“This woman gots no chance. Who do she think she is, comin’ out here onto my turf and orderin’ me ’round? She need to take her ass back to coal-cracking country and stick to something more her speed … like blueberry blintzes.”
Phil’s Mom wasn’t about to be intimidated or deterred, even after she was sequestered in an Albuquerque airport for five hours as she made the trip west. It seems someone (oh, we know it was you, Mr. Pudding) left a note in the jet’s bathroom on her connecting flight from Detroit. The FBI was called in, and Special Agent Leon Stanhope had the following to say:
“What a low blow. I mean, I saw the elbow Andrew Bynum planted in Barrea’s ribs and that was nothing compared to this. We don’t have any concrete evidence at this point, but we suspect the note was left by one of Â BP’s associates who were on the plane: Fried Ice Cream or Flourless Chocolate Cake. I can’t release the actual details of the note, but I will tell you it mentioned the word ‘Gut Bomb.’ We’re not taking this lightly.”
With a crowd of eighty in attendance, Mom wasn’t intimidated. In fact, she took on another opponent in a warm-up match (Pan Roasted Chicken) to loosen her jaw muscles and show her self-assurance. Her son and corner cut man, “Nice Guy” Phil, cleaned a stray dab of gravy from her chin and gave us an exclusive from ringside.
“It’s bittersweet for me. I’m technically a San Diego native now, but much as I continue to root for the Phillies, I have to stay in Mom’s corner. I mean, seriously, this town has zero championships, right? Sorry, I’m not counting the freaking Sockers … who are they anyway? Mom’s not about to let this one slip. Heck, I watched her take out a cannoli in under a minute last month. BP’s goin’ down.”
“You simple as a pimple,” BP interjected as he overheard Phil’s comment. “Ya oughta be shamed of yoself, sendin’ yo mama up in here to do a man’s job.”
Phil puffed his chest but Mom stopped him, reminding him how his last confrontation with Banana Cream Pie went.
Once the bell rang, Mom delivered stinging jabs from all angles. She quickly knocked the whipped and ice cream topping to the side and dismantled BP, chip by chip. The only respite for BP was when she reached for a swig of hot tea.
After the match, Mom smiled and patted her pouch.
“That was nice. I’m leaning toward a few ounces of port wine and a dark chocolate wafer.”
She just might be the greatest of all-time.